


Take x Me x Home

by 52714



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Drunk Sex, Face-Fucking, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Service Top Leorio Paladiknight, Slow Burn, no beta we die like men, this fic was not sponsored by Crisco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/52714/pseuds/52714
Summary: Leorio’s attending physician requests that he befriend a particularly troubled patient. Like residency wasn’t already hell enough.
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 18
Kudos: 231





	1. Hello x Gorgeous

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: there are some derogatory terms used towards homosexuals in this story. It takes place in 1977, in our world, so I attempted to be historically accurate where possible. That unfortunately means using some more antiquated terms.
> 
> There are a number of pop culture references / uses of slang throughout this fic. There is a glossary at the very end, so as to not interrupt the flow of the story.

* * *

Lenox Hill Hospital, New York City - April 9th, 1977

* * *

No matter which move he made, Leorio was fucked.

“You can't beat me,” Kurapika taunted. “Are you going to flip the board again, like you usually do?”

“Fucking hell, that was _one time_! And I told you, the damn thing slipped!”

Mercifully, the harsh trill of Leorio’s pager interrupted whatever Kurapika had been about to say.

“Well, would you look at that. Duty calls, so this one's a draw.”

Kurapika frowned, resigned. He attempted to sweep the chess pieces back into the box, half of them spilling onto the surrounding sheets of his hospital bed. A few tumbled to the floor, and Leorio hurriedly crouched down, hands sweeping over the linoleum.

“Sorry, I really have to run,” the doctor stood and shot a glance at the clock above the door. He looked back, apologetically, to where the younger man rested on the bed. His left leg was in a cast and suspended off the white sheets.

“Think I missed a few under there,” he smirked. “You got the rest, right?”

A knight suddenly knocked the glasses clean from Leorio’s face, causing them to clatter obnoxiously onto the floor.

“Only a pathetic excuse for a doctor would ask a bedridden patient to tidy up after him,” said Kurapika, evenly. When a rook found its way between his fingers, the doctor hurriedly raised his arms in defeat.

“Alright, alright! I was just joking, honest! I’ll come back before the end of my shift, OK? No problem.”

He bent down to retrieve his specs, tossing the knight back to Kurapika, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Kurapika?” Leorio paused in the threshold, looking back over his shoulder. He smiled in a strange sort of fashion that the younger man had never seen before.

“I’ll beat you tomorrow for sure.”

* * *

It had been two, maybe three weeks of this. He honestly wasn’t sure. Days and hours of almost-summer just melded together for Leorio now, one of those side-effects of adulthood they never tell you about.

When his residency first started six months ago, everything _had_ been new and exciting. Mostly terrifying. Now he was just tired all the time. The only things he had to look forward to were his smoke breaks. And going home. And getting drunk.

Lenox Hill hadn’t been his first choice, but it was decent enough. Kept him close enough to home, anyway. The hospital itself was nestled between Lexington and Park Avenue. The flush location meant the ICU was half-full of rich people, the other half mainly comprised of the type that scare rich people. It wasn't all dull, though. Every couple of years, they'd be lucky enough to get a Zoldyck.

It was mid-April now, and this whole thing started happening when, one morning, his attending physician pulled him aside.

His name was Alexander Zamoksva, M.D., and he was a compassionate fifty-something with brown eyes. Leorio liked his accent. Zamoksva hailed from the USSR, and his tone was always assured and authoritative. Maybe not the best teacher, but a hell of a doctor.

In hushed tones, he explained that a patient, nearly Leorio’s age, had arrived a few nights ago. Left tibia had been shattered by a bullet. Minor burns and smoke inhalation. No one had showed up to visit, save for the police. Zamoksva began to worry for the patient’s mental health after a few reporters began poking around. His request was firm, but polite: go make friends.

Leorio had protested, at first. Who in their right mind was gonna give up their lunch breaks to go babysit? Like he wasn’t overworked already. But, there was no way he could turn down a personal favor for his attending. Which is why, come lunchtime, Leorio found himself outside of room 404.

He knocked on the faux-wooden door, waiting for the muffled “come in”, before cracking it. As he crossed the threshold, a sense of bewilderment overwhelmed him. Just why, exactly, _had_ he agreed to this? Leorio always responded naturally to those who sought aid, a sort of altruistic instinct. This patient clearly needed help, so what compelled the uneasy feeling in his gut?

Perhaps it was _how_ Zamoksva had asked. It was an easy thing, to be assigned a patient, and the mutual understanding of roles that came with it. Leorio had learned plenty about compassionate care, but this situation was far beyond what neat paragraphs in a medical textbook could explain. This patient hadn’t asked for him, and he wasn’t taking charge of their care. Would his presence even be wanted? Was this sort of interaction even appropriate?

The overwhelming sense of doubt, which churned heavy and thick in his stomach, vanished suddenly as he walked into the room.

And that was because the patient was a beautiful, young woman.

The eastern wing of the hospital was in the rare business of receiving direct sunlight this time of year. A business that had remained all but unknown to Leorio, until he found himself blinking rapidly and in pain. Hours under fluorescents left his eyes woefully sensitive; his smoke breaks always taken in the shade for this very reason.

Sunlight bounced off of her golden hair in a blinding cascade. Grey eyes looked blearily over at Leorio as he stepped closer, and the young physician felt his heart skip a beat. _No,_ _palpitate_ _,_ his doctor-brain supplied unhelpfully.

They’d given her a pale, blue gown that was a few sizes too big, leaving one of her shoulders exposed. White bandages peeked modestly from around the low neckline, and a braided chain of silver looped about her neck and plunged beneath the gown’s edge. Her chest was tragically flat, and her body thin, but that didn’t matter. The shortness of her hair, barely cresting the skin of her shoulders, was what struck Leorio. He knew shorter hair was common among burn victims, most of it had likely been singed off. Still, she was an undeniable beauty.

Zamoksva, that old dog! Leorio would have to thank him later, maybe get him a bottle of vodka.

“Mn, you’re not... my doctor,” she said weakly. Her voice fell low and mysterious upon his ears. Leorio realized he had been staring, so he consciously pulled his gaze towards the window. His eyes protested as the brightness assaulted them.

“I’m not, but yours told me you might like some company.” As he spoke, he walked over to the bed, noting her suspended leg. He was wearing a white doctor’s coat over his scrubs, but flashed his hospital badge to dispel the faint suspicion in her eyes. “I’m a resident here, my name’s Leorio.”

“I would rather… just read by myself. If it’s all the same to you,” she spoke slowly, as though a haze enveloped her. Poor thing was probably doped out of her mind.

True to her word, there was a small stack of books on the bedside table. The top bore art of a blonde woman in a traditional, hempen-looking outfit, clutching an instrument. Five dragons, each a different color, flew about her. She looked quite similar to the the young woman on the bed, and Leorio smiled.

“ _Dragonsong_ , eh? I read _Dragonquest_ back in high school.” Leorio brought a pensive hand to his chin as he spoke. “Good book. Not sure if you’re in any state to be reading, though.”

If he could just check her chart, he could see what Zamoksva had put her on.

 _I could read to her if she's too strung out to do it herself_ , he thought excitedly. _That would definitely be romantic as hell, women love that shit_ _._

He snatched up the clipboard by the foot of her bed, eyes flying in a well-practiced manner over Zamoksva’s near-illegible handwriting.

_Age_ : 24

 _Height_ : 5’7”—

Leorio’s face did not change, but his lips suddenly went white.

And that was because of a tragic, but undeniable, ‘ _M_ ’ in the box that denoted the patient’s sex.

_Fuck._

* * *

His name was Kurapika, and his story had made the papers.

Gang violence affecting a middle-class white family, in a decent neighborhood? The damned city really _was_ careening straight into hell. That’s what ABC seemed to think, anyways.

In the days that followed, Leorio did not visit. He wasn’t too keen on returning, not after his misunderstanding with the young man. The whole thing had left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, and he didn’t like thinking about it.

He wasn’t a fag. How exactly was a red-blooded, American man supposed to resist what he _thought_ was a beautiful woman?

There had been plenty of women at NYU, and now that he was an unmarried doctor, Leorio found himself more popular than ever. Women were simply transcendent creatures, and if a nance like Kurapika sometimes slipped through the cracks, well, it said _more_ about his attraction to women, not less. It was stupid of him to even be entertaining this conversation with himself. He loved Billy Joel and Aerosmith. He wasn’t a faggot.

But, Leorio grew curious about the guy for other reasons. He never found the newspaper clipping with Kurapika’s story, but there had been plenty of gossip from other staff members. The media wasn’t here that often, and it always sparked some interest.

It was hard not to be skeptical, though. Some of the rumors didn’t line up, and some were plain contradictory. And nobody seemed to be able to figure out if the kid was from Queens or Brooklyn. Or what age he was. Or what gender (though Leorio passionately clarified _that_ situation whenever he could).

Still, thanks to Zamoksva’s request, he could get the news straight from the source. But, it was wrong to make nice with someone for selfish reasons, wasn’t it? An uneasiness grew in his gut the longer he thought about it. But curiosity began to gnaw at him too, and before long, Leorio found himself back outside of room 404.

“Oh, it’s you.” Kurapika said, sheets rustling as he fought to sit up. His voice was raspier than Leorio remembered. “I’d like to apologize for the other day,” he started, folding his bandaged hands into his lap. “I was in a lot of pain,” he paused, and Leorio heard the distinct sound of fibers being picked at. “I do appreciate you coming to visit, but I must apologize. Dr. Zamoksva probably put you up to this. You should leave if—“

“Hey, no, it’s cool,” Leorio interrupted. “No hard feelings, you’ve been through a lot. I brought checkers if you wanna play.”

Kurapika’s face expressed a strange emotion just then. Leorio could only describe it as pure incredulity. _Surely this guy knows what checkers is...?_

“Checkers?”

“C’mon, you need a little distraction,” Leorio said, prying open the cardboard box in his hands. He’d snatched it from one of the rec rooms and prayed it still had all the pieces _._ “If you keep using drugs as your only escape, you’ll end up just like all the other junkies on the street.” Kurapika looked briefly alarmed at the drip in his right arm, and his face fell.

“Shit, I was just joking. You’re gonna be fine. Dr. Z is the best guy here, I swear it! You’ll need that Percodan you’re on for a while, ‘til your leg heals a bit more, so don’t worry about it. If we took you off it, you’d—“ _Shut up, Leorio, you’re just making it worse._

“I would what?”

“Ah, damn it. I’m an idiot, ignore me. Let’s—um, do you wanna play red, or black?”

Kurapika’s gaze might have been calm and even, but his mouth betrayed the smallest smile.

“Red, please.”

* * *

It turned out that Kurapika was actually a pretty cool guy.

The kid was smart, nearly well-educated, and usually beat Leorio at whatever game he brought. The worst thing was that he never gloated; he’d just smile in that infuriatingly triumphant way.

The more Leorio learned about Kurapika, the more he realized just how much their acquaintanceship meant to the young man. His days were spent speaking to the police, reporters, or Dr. Zamoksva. Never any visitors. The only time Kurapika got to be around people his own age was when Leorio stopped by.

And as if getting shot in the leg and scorched wasn’t bad enough, all he had to eat was the crappy cafeteria food. So, Leorio had taken it upon himself to smuggle in a few slices of pizza here and there, outside bacteria be damned.

At first, their conversations were rather awkward non-sequiturs. Mostly about the weather, because Kurapika didn’t care much for the Knicks. Or the Yankees. Or anything that was easily talked about, except for the weather. He deflected personal questions with such astonishing ease that Leorio started to form a little pet theory, that Kurapika had mafia connections. Until, of course, he remembered his leg had been shattered as part of a mob hit. _Genius, Leorio._

Still, despite their awkward conversations, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to seeing him. It had started with just lunch, but soon enough he’d be poking his head in a few times a day. Kurapika’s grey eyes would light up briefly whenever he walked in, and _anyone_ would feel good about that. Before long, Leorio caught himself starting to hope for patients on the 4th floor.

Despite the young man’s even voice and cool tone, it was rather easy to get a rise out of him, which Leorio discovered was one of his favorite things to do.

“You do realize I’m bedridden, right? So when you slipped that... _magazine_ under my door yesterday, one of the nurses had to pick it up and give it to me!?” Kurapika’s face was a potent shade of red, and Leorio laughed harder at that than he had in a long time.

“So what, there are way worse things I could have slipped under there than _Playboy_. At least they think you’re a man with dignified taste.”

“Dignified to _you,_ maybe,” Kurapika groaned.

“Hey, c’mon, I was being nice. It could have been a _Sears_ catalogue.”

“Shut up, there’s no way people actually would—“

“Or _Sears Kids_!”

Leorio wasn’t surprised when the copy of _Dragonsong_ hit him square in the face, but he’d been really hoping for a pillow.


	2. Perfectly x Marvelous

* * *

Lenox Hill Hospital, New York City - April 21st, 1977

* * *

“I can’t believe you smoke. They say it’s bad for you now.”

“Can it, Kurapika. You try making it through med school without picking up a vice or two.” Leorio paused for a nice, long drag, the burn in his lungs hurting _just_ right. “Want one? It’s a fresh pack.”

“This is the first fresh air I’ve gotten in weeks, and thanks to you everything smells like tobacco,” Kurapika frowned. “It’s bad enough that I’m confined to this wheelchair.”

He'd finally been allowed out, so Leorio had begrudgingly rolled him up the hill, onto Park Avenue. Beneath a nearby awning, some doorman was hosing down the sidewalk.

“I hate to break it to you, but we’re in the City. If I stopped smoking right now, you’d just smell homeless drifter piss instead. So really, I’m doing you a favor.” Leorio paused to exhale a cloud of smoke directly on top of Kurapika’s head, laughing as he frantically attempted to fan it away. “Life’s short. You want that cigarette or not?”

“Now you want _me_ to smoke? Just what kind of doctor are you, anyway?”

“A cool one.”

Couldn’t argue that, so the pair smoked quietly and watched the traffic go by.

* * *

Half an hour after his Kurapika excursion, Leorio was cornered by his attending. Zamoksva quietly pushed a newspaper clipping into his hands and walked off, leaving Leorio with a vicious horde of questions.

Suspected gang violence in Sunnyside, Queens. Seven homicides in all; one attempted homicide, two counts of arson. The house was robbed and then burned down. Currently, no suspects, but the Brooklyn Phantoms were assumed to be the gang involved, based off of the location.

_Jesus Christ._

“I only shared that information with you, because I know you won’t treat him any differently,” Zamoksva admitted later. They were sitting in the old man’s office, dust motes flickering in the gentle slats of window-light.

“When the police first told him, he wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t sleep. He would stare out the window emptily, barely even blinked. I had to threaten to intubate him to get him to eat.” The old man shook his head slightly. “I haven’t seen a man lose everything in a long time, not since Vietnam.”

Leorio felt numb. A cruel, nostalgic emotion sprung to the forefront of his mind, something he hadn’t felt since medical school, when he’d observed an autopsy for the first time. That twisted, tantalizing sense of _something,_ all curled up in his gut.

Kurapika, with the stack of books piled neatly at his bedside. Who thanked Leorio, softly, whenever he brought him something to eat. Kurapika, who always asked if there were any students wanting to practice putting in his IV. He didn’t mind, they had to learn somehow.

How could someone lose everything he did, and still manage to smile and speak normally?

The sound of a lighter and the tingling scent of smoke brought him back.

“It's very important, what you're doing for him. Kurapika is doing well, now,” little puffs of white escaped Zamoksva’s lips as he spoke. “When do you think we would normally discharge him?”

Leorio considered this question. Being tested casually was a part of residency. Answering incorrectly made you look like an ass in front of your attending, so for once, he thought carefully before speaking.

“Hm, with such severe trauma to the leg, I’d estimate about a month in the ICU.” Leorio paused to recall the wording of the question. _Normally._ “But Kur— um, the patient, has no home to go back to.”

“He has no living relatives either. We’ve checked.” Zamoksva shifted in his chair, causing it to creak unhappily. He brought the cigarette up to his lips, “too old for city juvenile services, I'm afraid. I’m working with social services to find him a place to stay.”

Visions of Kurapika in some dingy apartment instantly plagued his mind’s eye. Leorio’s stomach churned just to think of it. He’d be alone, or with God-knows-who for a roommate, in God-knows-what neighborhood. And if the mob really was after him, he certainly wouldn’t be safe.

“He can stay with me,” Leorio offered automatically. No sooner had the words left his mouth, it all made sense.

Zamoksva had probably arranged all of this on purpose. It was well known that Leorio was a genuine altruist; staff members were always dumping work on him, because he’d never say no to a person in need. And judging by the tiny smile that curled around Zamoksva’s cigarette, his hunch was correct. But he couldn't find it in himself to feel anger. There was no such thing as being tricked into helping someone, not to Leorio.

“That’s very generous of you, Doctor. But Lenox Hill would never ask you to make such a personal sacrifice. Are you certain? He’d have to approve these arrangements, as well.”

“Yeah, yeah— it’ll be fine. It’s just ‘til he gets back on his feet,” Leorio smiled weakly. Deep in his heart, a sense of duty had spurred him. Kurapika was a friend, a good guy, and friends help each other out.

He would do this for him, he had to.

“You should inform him soon, he’ll be discharged next Tuesday,” Zamoksva said. The tip of his cigarette flared as he took a sudden drag, considering. “I’ll take you off the schedule for a couple days, give you some time to adjust.”

“And, Leorio?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Leorio gently set Kurapika down and promptly collapsed at the top of the stairs, heart pounding in his ears. He felt like he’d just finished a 16 hour shift at work: his back and neck were slick with sweat, and his lungs burned something awful. _Maybe I should stop smoking._ No, he concluded, living in a walk-up was to blame.

Kurapika nudged at his shoulder with his injured foot, the heavy cast gentle but insistent as it poked the fabric of Leorio’s navy suit.

“Are you alright?” His tone sounded amused.

 _At least someone is enjoying this,_ Leorio thought miserably, own breath still loud to his ears. He peered upwards to see Kurapika sitting as properly as one could in such a state, uninjured foot tucked daintily out of sight.

His apartment lay just a bit further down the hall, the wooden floors scuffed and scratched beyond repair. 199 E 61st St was a 1940's construction, so its interiors were “classic” and “vintage”, according to its ad in the _Sta_ _r_. Really, it just meant everything was old as shit, and the heat occasionally crapped out in the winter.

Leorio didn’t care about that, though. The location was in a safer part of midtown: 61st and 3rd Avenue; even near enough that he could walk to work. Living in a walk-up suited him just fine, it wasn’t nearly as bad as _Barefoot in the Park_ made it out to be, not when you lived on the fourth floor.

“I have crutches, you know,” Kurapika pointed out. “It was kind of you to carry me, but I could have climbed by myself.”

“The hell you could. You’re not used to the crutches yet,” Leorio snapped between breaths. “I’ll get them from downstairs, just gimmie a minute. Last thing I need is your ass getting shipped right back to the hospital.”

Defiantly, Kurapika gripped the wooden bars of the stairwell banister and pulled himself to his feet. He began to make his way unsteadily down the hallway, one hand affixed to the wooden railing to keep balance.

“It’s 403,” he shouted, watching Kurapika wave his hand in acknowledgement.

“Stubborn bastard,” Leorio grimaced and scrambled clumsily after him. From his mouth came an unmistakable string of expletives directed at his new roommate. For all his theatrics, Kurapika was probably in quite a bit of pain. Should have just waited for the crutches. Dumbass.

After the brief jingle of Leorio’s keys and the click of the lock, Kurapika limped inside.

The doctor only hoped that his guest wouldn’t be too disappointed with his digs; he'd spent much of last night cleaning frantically, so at least there was that. The apartment itself was smaller, just one bedroom, but it had plenty of light.

The front door opened directly into the living room, where a big, navy couch was mounted atop a grey shag carpet. A color TV sat on the console, and there were some side tables with coasters, an ashtray, the works.

Kurapika toed off his single shoe and stepped into the living room. Leorio’s apartment smelled faintly of his cologne, dark and masculine.

“Come sit on the couch,” he offered. Kurapika noted that his host didn’t bother to slip off his Oxfords, instead hurrying straight to his bedroom. The blond eased himself onto the dark cushions and craned his neck to peer about.

To his left, a wall bisected the open third of the room, one half forming a small dining area and the other a kitchen. The kitchen was tiny, looked barely able to accommodate two people. A little window cut through the white tile of the far wall, and Kurapika grinned when he saw a tiny, potted plant on the sill.

Bookshelves and posters occupied much of the wall space, as well as a rather impressive collection of records. The white door that Leorio disappeared through was half-ajar, leading into a carpeted room that Kurapika presumed was his bedroom. It was a nice enough place, for a young man in his twenties.

Kurapika tried to ignore the sudden heaviness in his chest. This place wasn’t like his home at all. And no other place would be, ever again.

His thoughts quieted as Leorio returned; he was clutching a stack of pillows in his arms. Kneeling down on the shag carpet, he carefully elevated Kurapika’s leg onto the coffee table, cushioning it with pillows underneath.

“Oh! Let me get you some water...” Leorio scrambled to his feet, a _whoosh_ from the kitchen sink following shortly thereafter. The pleasant sound of running water filled the room, and a good sort of shiver echoed down Kurapika’s spine as he listened. A few moments later, Leorio’s fingers bumped his as he passed the cool glass. Kurapika thanked him.

“I’ll run down and grab the rest of your stuff. Er, do you want the TV on?”

The blond wordlessly shook his head no. The door clicked shut as Leorio stepped out, and the apartment fell mostly silent; the faint city ambiance of traffic was comforting, at least. A little.

It took only one more trip to heave Kurapika’s single suitcase and crutches up the stairs. Leorio couldn’t feel good about that, though.

What must it be like, to have your entire life fit into just one bag? True, he’d been poor growing up, but not exceptionally destitute. Not single-bag levels of poverty.

He was no stranger to loss, there’d been Pietro— no, no, he couldn’t let himself go down _that_ road again. Some things were still too painful, even after the passing of so many years. His gut twisted to think of the agony Kurapika must be enduring right now. He could do something to help, surely.

“Hey, we could order Chinese for dinner,” Leorio offered as he shouldered back through the threshold, crutches slung under one arm. As he leaned Kurapika’s things against the couch, the sound of a staggering breath ended his thoughts of Mrs. Chen’s cashew chicken.

Kurapika wasn’t crying, not yet, but he looked like he was about to.

“I appreciate everything, Leorio, and I’m sorry. But I want to be alone for a bit,” he said, struggling to maintain an unwavering tone. Kurapika felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and if he’d turned around to look, he would have seen Leorio’s mouth curl in hesitation.

Whatever Leorio had been about to say, he thought better of it. A few seconds later, Kurapika found himself alone.

If he allowed himself to cry now, he knew he'd make a whole evening of it. So he steeled himself, reached for the nearest book, and locked away his thoughts of home and the fading warmth of Leoiro’s touch.


	3. Montage x (In x Four x Parts)

* * *

Apartment 403, New York City - May 1st, 1977

* * *

“Kurapika, wake up.”

Leorio was kneeling by the couch in an old NYU t-shirt and boxers. Kurapika looked so peaceful as he slept, blond hair splayed out against the borrowed pillow like a halo.

He gently shook the young man awake, feeling a touch guilty.

“Nn, Leorio? What time is it?”

“It's 2AM,” he replied softly. “I set an alarm. You need to take your painkillers.”

Coaxing a half-asleep Kurapika into a sitting position proved easier than he'd hoped. His throat made a quiet, wet sound as he swallowed the medicine, and he weakly set his glass of water back on the coffee table. Leorio caught sight of the white bandage on his forearm as he extended it, covering the place where his IV had been attached.

“You have to take them every twelve hours. Since you don't have a drip anymore, you'll have to be awake. I know it sucks, but I'll try and get you on a better schedule, OK?”

“Thank you, Leorio,” Kurapika smiled softly, eyelids heavy.

“I'm going back to bed now. Shout for me if you think you're experiencing any side-effects, itching or dizziness or something.”

But Kurapika had already drifted off, small chest rising and falling peacefully beneath his thin shirt.

Leorio shook his head and went back to sleep.

* * *

Apartment 403, New York City - May 6th, 1977

* * *

It was nice to come home to someone, Leorio discovered.

It had been Kurapika's idea, not his, that he earn his keep. Despite his heavy cast, the stubborn bastard was surprisingly mobile, and he kept the apartment spotless. He'd even organized the records into alphabetical order, and thrown out the year-old flour, rice, and god-knows-what in the pantry.

After a long shift, he loved hearing the faint tune from the record player seeping out into the hallway. And, if Kurapika was in view of the front door when he came home, he would smile and greet Leorio as he walked in. _Almost like having a little housewife._

Leorio knew it was wrong to think about Kurapika like that, but he couldn't help himself.

And he always helped out where he could, buying whatever groceries Kurapika gave him a list for, taking out the trash, that sort of thing. He also had to do all the laundry, as he couldn't allow Kurapika out to the laundromat in such a state, but he hardly minded. It was the least he could do.

It wasn't all domestic bliss, though. They fought sometimes, mostly over what to eat for dinner. Despite his profession, Leorio loved to eat like shit; Kurapika, on the other hand, favored lighter meals that didn't leave one completely stuffed. For the first week after Kurapika moved in, they ordered take-out from every restaurant in a five block radius.

Leorio was always too tired to cook after his shifts, and he was lousy at it anyways, so the first time he smelled dinner from the hallway, he'd grown especially excited. He usually only got home-cooked meals when he visited his parents, back in Brooklyn.

When he walked in, the kitchen was a disaster. The lasagna Kurapika attempted to make looked at least half-presentable, though. His black t-shirt was covered in flour, and there was a vibrant tomato-sauce stain running down the side of his cast. He looked miserable.

Leorio set down his briefcase and burst out laughing.

“Keep laughing at me, and you won't get any,” Kurapika warned. The doctor quickly closed his mouth, stepping closer.

“Can I help with anything?”

“No, just go sit.”

From the little dinner table, he told Kurapika about his day. On Thursday, Zamoksva was finally going to let him perform an appendectomy, and he felt a bit nervous about it. Oh, and a 12-year-old boy had come in too, fishing hook caught in his finger. He was a sweet kid. Tough too, barely even cried.

The sonorous, sweet voice of Stevie Wonder reverberated from the record player as Kurapika brought out two plates.

“I don't understand how you can talk about those things right before you eat,” he murmured in disbelief, passing Leorio a fork. The blond sat carefully at the table, placing his napkin in his lap. As Leorio spoke, he raised a bite to his lips.

“Dunno, I had to do all sorts of crazy shit in med school. I'm pretty desensitized to stuff n--”

He paused as Kurapika's face suddenly twisted in disgust, fork still half in his mouth. Leorio watched, trying his best not to laugh as the blond quickly spit into his napkin. He looked utterly defeated.

“Oh, god. Don't eat it, Leorio.”

“Bad?”

“Yeah. It took me so long to make, too,” he sighed.

“It can't be that bad,” Leorio said, adjusting his glasses. “I mean, it _looks_ fine.” From across the table, Kurapika leaned back in his chair and smirked. He had a dangerous glint in his grey eyes.

“By all means, try some,” he said, gesturing with a hand. Leorio looked skeptically down at his fork.

“Um, want me to just go get a pizza?”

Kurapika could only shake his head, laughing.

“Yeah.”

* * *

Apartment 403, New York City - May 17th, 1977

* * *

“Hey, Kurapika, do you think this is worth anything? I found it on the street.”

Leorio set down his briefcase and walked over to the dinner table. Kurapika was sitting neatly, reading what appeared to be a cookbook. It looked like he was about to turn one of the pages, thin paper held carefully between his fingertips. As Leorio approached, he closed the heavy cover sheepishly and looked up, grey eyes squinting at the tiny object in Leorio's hands.

“It's a ring,” the doctor said, setting it down carefully on the table.

“I can see that,” Kurapika deadpanned. “Do you have a magnifying glass?”

Once upon a time, Leorio had been quite proud to call himself a Boy Scout. That is to say, he did own a magnifying glass. He omitted the Boy Scout part to Kurapika, though. Wordlessly, he handed it over.

He hadn't been expecting it, but Kurapika examined the gemstone with such a fierce precision that it put half the surgeons in Lenox Hill to shame, Leorio included. He couldn't help but be impressed, watching Kurapika work. He held it up to the light and stared at it from every which angle. He even breathed on it, fogging up the clear stone. It was hypnotizing to watch.

“It's cubic zirconia, it's not worth anything,” he concluded, setting down the ring and magnifying glass. Leorio couldn't even find it in him to feel disappointed, he had a slew of questions instead.

“How the hell do you know how to do that?”

The mood in the apartment suddenly grew colder. Kurapika was looking down, blond bangs obscuring his face. Leorio could hear his good leg shifting uncomfortably.

“Before,” he said quietly, “my family were jewelers. For three generations, we owned a shop in Queens. I grew up preparing to take over the family business, so I learned a lot about the trade. I obviously don't have all the tools a proper appraiser would have, but I'm almost certain that ring is worth nothing.”

He felt Leorio's hand rest reassuringly on his shoulder.

“Kurapika, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.”

“No, it's fine.” He took a deep breath, emboldened by the warmth emitting from Leorio's palm. “My father, he refused to fence for the mob, and they made an example of us. So, there. Now you know.”

Leorio knelt down, hard wood of the floor uncomfortable on his joints. He gently drew the smaller man into a hug, though the chair he was sitting on made the angle awkward. It felt like Kurapika was trying his best to hug him back.

“Well, I'm glad you're still here,” Leorio said quietly, squeezing him tighter. A sob wracked the blond's thin frame in response. His shoulders were shaking.

“I haven't always been,” he admitted, voice wavering. He buried his face in Leorio's chest until he was sure it was hidden. “You saved my life, really,” he confessed, hoping the words were obscured in the deep folds of Leorio's navy suit. His breath shuddered as he began to cry.

It was the most pathetic he'd ever felt in his life, but his friend's hold was unwavering. They remained like that for a while, until the sun had set and Kurapika had to take his medicine. Leorio picked him up and carried him to the couch. And after that, he stayed by Kurapika's side until he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Apartment 403, New York City - May 24th, 1977

* * *

“Leorio, it's starting,” Kurapika warned from the couch.

“Fucking Jiffy Pop, I think this one's expired,” Leorio shouted from the kitchen. The apartment was filled with the delicious scent of butter, but the sounds of popcorn popping were nowhere to be heard. He took a swig of his beer, willing the aluminum to expand with all his might.

By the time it finished, and he managed to dump it into a decently sized bowl, he'd already missed the opening credits. The doctor hurriedly leapt onto to the couch, practically landing on Kurapika as he did so. His roommate did his best to shove Leorio off of him, careful to keep him close enough to reach the popcorn.

“Angie Dickenson is so hot,” Leorio sighed. He raised the beer bottle to his lips again, looking down at Kurapika as he did so. He ran a hand through his black hair. Poor bastard wasn't allowed to drink, not on his pain meds.

“She's pretty,” Kurapika conceded, feeling his gut twist at Leorio's words.

 _Police Woman_ was their favorite show. Kurapika didn't watch much television before he'd moved in with Leorio, but he found he rather enjoyed police shows. Leorio was a religious fan of _Police Woman,_ he'd been a loyal fan since its debut in '74.

Naturally, Kurapika had been roped into watching with him, and now he was just as hooked. It was a sweet little deal, too. Whenever Leorio missed an episode due to work, Kurapika would recount the whole thing. He even took neat, little notes.

On nights like this one, where Kurapika was tired, he would lie lengthwise across the couch and heave his cast into Leorio's lap.

“Hey, show Angie some respect! If I catch you sleeping, I'm gonna draw on it,” he warned, gesturing menacingly at Kurapika's cast. He was serious, too. Kurapika had made _that_ fatal mistake, once, having woken up with a poorly rendered ankle-lasagna in retribution.

It was difficult, though. Over the span of two weeks, he and Leorio had successfully planned it so that he was taking his pain medicine at 8AM and 8PM, respectively. He rarely made it through an episode these days, but he didn't mind. Leorio always told him what happened over breakfast the next day.

In the fleeting, half-moments between sleep and awakeness, Kurapika felt his roommate's hand moving quietly against his cast. _Probably_ _drawing something,_ he thought. But he didn't stop him, instead savoring Leorio's touch. It was wrong, but he wished he could feel it better through his cast. Or better yet, on his skin proper.

Opening his eyes blearily, he saw Leorio smile and raise his hands, black sharpie in one of them.

“Got me,” he said guiltily.

Kurapika peered down to see what he'd been drawing. He gasped, suddenly sitting up. Anger pooled in his veins, and he seethed up at his roommate. Well, he was certainly awake _now_.

“What the hell?” he cried, gesturing to the doodle of Angie Dickenson with immense breasts. It was huge, and practically took up the entire front of the cast. Leorio snorted and took another sip of his beer. “ _Leorio_! I can't leave the apartment like this! Go buy some white paint, _now_!”

“Fine, fine,” he agreed, trying to avoid a fight. “But I can't go this second.”

“And why is that?” Kurapika ground out, feeling his teeth grit.

“'Cause,” Leorio said, gesturing innocently to the TV, “episode's not over yet.”


	4. Love x To x Love x You x Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, there wasn't really a mainstream word for bisexual in the 1970's, ok?

* * *

Apartment 403, New York City - June 5th, 1977

1:47AM

* * *

A loud crash startled Kurapika awake, heart setting a furious pace in his chest. Through the darkness of the living room, his grey eyes honed in on a heavy, hard-covered medical book. It would make a shoddy defense, but he brandished it toward the door anyways. His heart skipped a beat as Leorio finally stumbled in.

It was the first Saturday of the month, and it wasn’t raining, which meant Zepile and Leorio had been haunting some Manhattan dance floor. Leorio loved to dress up sharp and sweet, but he loved drinking more, white suit he favored never managing to escape the night unscathed.

Zepile was one of those college buddies Kurapika had heard a lot about, but never actually met. Back in the day, apparently he and Leorio had gotten into a lot of trouble together. On those nights that Leorio came back drunk, Zepile was always the catalyst.

Strangely, Kurapika found his mind absent of any annoyance, and after such a startling wake-up call, he certainly wasn’t tired anymore. He passively observed as Leorio slurred his apologies and headed for the kitchen sink, swallowing handfuls of icy water in a vicious fashion.

“Sorry man, I’m really sorry,” Leorio started, coming to sit on the floor by the coffee table. He leaned an elbow on the lacquered wood and propped up his head with a hand. “Didn’t wanna wake you, but I couldn’t get the door open.”

“Are you alright?” Kurapika asked. He watched in amusement as Leorio ran his free hand back and forth over the shag carpet, just petting it.

“Yeah, yeah. Drank a little too much,” he replied. A scowl suddenly overtook Leorio’s features, and his fingers gripped harshly at the fibers of the rug. He looked up to where the blonde sat on the couch, brown eyes betraying annoyance.

“What?”

Leorio looked away. His head felt floaty whenever he tried to close his eyes, so he kept them open.

“There was this chick, I could’ve made it with her for sure. Real gorgeous girl,” he sighed. Kurapika’s expression changed slightly, but his mouth remained in a frown.

Leorio tended only to speak about women he saw on TV. Sometimes, if he _really_ liked one, she’d join Cher, Lynda Carter, and all the rest in his little bedroom poster collection. But women he met at discos or bars — _real_ women— he tried not to mention.

“Why didn’t you?” Kurapika ventured, though a sinking feeling told him he already knew. Before answering, Leorio raised his head and fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette. A click, and then the tingling scent of tobacco.

“C’mon, Kurapika,” he said, white smoke punctuating each syllable. He leaned an elbow nonchalantly back onto the coffee table, free hand pulling the cigarette to his lips. “Don’t make me say it. I have you here, you know I can’t bring a girl home.”

As expected, the blond’s face fell at his words. Kurapika already felt guilty for living here, that much was obvious, so Leorio hated admitting anything that would add to that burden. He liked having Kurapika live with him, really and truly did. But there were some things a roommate just couldn’t give.

“I don’t care about what you do,” Kurapika said, tone perfectly even. His grey eyes shifted out towards the kitchen window. “I don’t give a damn, bring a girl next Saturday if you want.”

Leorio wore the same face he always did when yelling at the stupider contestants on _The Price is Right_ : that mix of disbelief and annoyance that Kurapika hated to see _._ He narrowed his eyes and snuffed out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray.

“You think this about _you_? The hell is the _girl_ gonna think when she walks in?” Leorio snapped, too drunk to quell the rising volume of his voice. “Look at me,” he snapped, waiting until Kurapika did as he was told. He flicked his eyes downwards to where Leorio sat tensely on the carpet. The blonde’s face wore a mask of shame, and his grey eyes boiled with resentment.

“Have you looked in a fucking mirror lately? She’d walk in and probably think you were my girlfriend or wife or some shit.”

Kurapika’s jaw dropped, and he looked briefly like he was going to puke. He hadn’t been expecting _that_.

“What the hell are you talking about?” the calm veneer of his voice dangerously close to falling away.

Leorio sprung up on his knees, one hand gripping the corner of the coffee table like a vice. He was too drunk for this shit. He knew he should stop talking, but the fury in his soul and the vodka in his liver hung like a haze over the reasonable half of his head. Like not getting laid for months wasn’t bad enough, now the culprit responsible was giving him lip. Fuck no.

“Are you kidding me, Kurapika? The first time I saw you, I thought you were fucking gorgeous.” _Fuck. Stop talking._ But he couldn’t stop, the words were leaving his mouth before he could even think them.

“I thought you were probably one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen,” he admitted. “That blonde hair, your eyes, body, everything! I was gonna—gonna try and make you fall for me. You think I can bring a girl back here, to see _you_? Like I could even make it with a girl half as hot.”

Halfway through his confession, Leorio’s eyes had dropped to the floor. For a moment, the apartment was well and truly silent.

When he finally looked up, he saw a blush fiercely gripping Kurapika’s face. He was thinking, calculating, an intense nervousness radiating from his gaze.

“Do you want to fuck me, Leorio?”

* * *

Leorio wasn’t a faggot, but it took all of five seconds for him to conclude that women didn’t know how to give head.

The past few minutes had been a blur: he was on the couch now, long legs spread wide to accommodate Kurapika’s keeling form. His glasses were gone, he vaguely recalled the coffee table being shoved backward, and maybe Kurapika pulling a pillow under his bad knee. But all those things were neither here nor there, because five seconds ago Kurapika wrapped his lips around the head of Leorio’s cock.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” he groaned, tipping his head back. Kurapika’s mouth was amazingly warm, and he was bobbing his head skillfully to some unknown, wonderful tempo. The blond briefly pulled himself off to spit into his left hand, bringing it up to wrap around the base of Leorio’s dick, pumping it slowly in time with his mouth. Leorio gritted his teeth at the feeling and closed his eyes.

 _Don’t look. It’s a girl, a girl,_ he thought desperately. But a terrible part of him, the part emboldened by the liquor, urged him to open his eyes and watch. He could feel the fingers of Kurapika’s free hand gripping his thigh; his mouth was so hot, so wet. Leorio relented and peeked an eye open.

He was so glad he did.

Kurapika’s mouth was a fatal shade of pink and stretched wide around his cock. He was gazing up at Leorio with eyes that were half-lidded and foggy with concentration, blonde hair falling into his face as he moved. The chorus of sounds coming from his mouth were sloppy, pornographic, nothing that any magazine spread could ever capture.

Before tonight, Leorio never really liked getting head. He _wanted_ to, but most of the women he’d been with had politely refused him. And the few that hadn’t, well, their efforts had always been half-hearted. Not that he could blame them, exactly. He wasn’t sure how eager he’d be for a cock in his mouth, either.

But _Kurapika_ had been the one to push him onto the couch. Hadn’t even asked, just slipped off the cushions and dropped to his knees. Kurapika so obviously _wanted_ this, _liked_ this, that Leorio couldn’t help but feel desired. How else was someone supposed to feel, being on the receiving end of such enthusiasm. For once, he wasn’t going to feel bad about enjoying himself.

Through the pleasure, he brushed the yellow bangs from Kurapika’s eyes. His forehead felt slick with summer sweat, but he didn’t care. He combed his fingers through the fine strands, until his hand settled on the back of his head. Threading his fingers through the hair there, he grabbed a handful and gently pulled.

The blonde made a low noise in response, and his cock twitched in his mouth. Leorio shuddered as Kurapika took him deeper, throat tight and wet. He fought to keep his hips still, the temptation to fuck forward into Kurapika’s mouth borderline unbearable. Things would be over soon if they didn’t slow down, and he tugged Kurapika’s hair in warning.

Quickly, the blond tore his mouth free of Leorio’s dick, thin chest heaving and hidden beneath his grey t-shirt. Kurapika continued to jerk him off with short, tight strokes of his wrist, looking up with an intense longing in his eyes. A thin trail of spit extended down from his mouth like some depraved ornament; Leorio’s head spun just to see it. Fuck, he was still close.

He knocked Kurapika’s hands away and pulled his head back, cupping his face with one hand and leaning over to kiss him. The angle was awkward, and he could taste himself on Kurapika’s tongue, but he didn’t give a fuck about any of that now.

Leorio could instantly tell he was kissing a man: the skin of his face wasn’t as soft as a woman’s, the feel of his jaw a little too strong. But it was too late to give a fuck about that either. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or something.

When they pulled apart, Leorio could see relief in the younger man’s features. He gently pushed a thumb past Kurapika’s lips, pleased when he automatically began to suck on it. He desperately wanted to feel that on his dick again.

“Open your mouth,” he murmured, withdrawing his finger. He guided his cock back inside, this time pushing deeper into Kurapika’s throat and holding his head in place. The blond instantly gagged, eyes beginning to water.

Leorio let his head go, concerned, but Kurapika stubbornly forced his mouth forward. He took it all the way, until his small nose pressed intently against the coarse, black hair at the base. Leorio shuddered, mouth falling open and groaning his approval. His hands found Kurapika’s hair again and pulled.

“Ngh, _damn_ , I’m gonna—“ his warning was cut off by the alien, heady feeling of Kurapika swallowing around him. It was so tight and hot, pleasure was coiling in his gut, and Leorio shuddered, coming hard down Kurapika’s throat.

For a few moments, the room was silent, save for their panting. Kurapika scrubbed at the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. _Cute._

Leorio smiled and leaned down, grinning at the wet noise their lips made as they kissed. He tucked himself back into his underwear and buttoned up his slacks.

Kurapika clambered back up onto the couch, fighting to place his cast atop the coffee table. Leorio snaked an arm around the blonde’s shoulders, pulling him close, so that their bodies were flush together on one side. He felt like leaning in to kiss him again, so he did. Kurapika snuggled close, a hand gripping Leorio’s shirt.

“Your leg alright?”

“ _That_ all you have to say?” Kurapika’s voice was shamefully hoarse, but the tone came across as playful.

“Nah, that was… super. Think my brain shut off for a second there.” He paused. “Didn’t know you were gay,” he said, immediately regretting it.

“Didn’t know you were, either,” Kurapika replied quietly.

“I’m pretty drunk,” Leorio admitted. He gently ran a hand through Kurapika’s hair, idly playing with it as he spoke. “Pretty lonely too. Guess I always had a thing for blondes.” When he got buzzed like this, heat tended to pool pleasantly in his toes and fingers, like it was doing now. He leaned over for another kiss, and it was good. Maybe he’d drift off to sleep, just like this.

Kurapika wasn’t making it easy on him, though. Despite the late hour, the blond’s narrow body was still spry with energy, and he shifted restlessly on the couch.

“ _Leorio_ ,” he whined, clutching the other man’s dress shirt in frustration.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Never took care of you. Come here,” he lifted Kurapika gently, so that he could straddle his lap. His cast hit an awkward angle, so he'd need to move before long. Plenty they could accomplish in that time, though.

The old NYU t-shirt he'd stolen from Leorio was too big. Like in the hospital, the neckline of this shirt dipped low, and Leorio leaned down to kiss the exposed skin of his collarbone. He could feel Kurapika tangling his fingers through his black hair, pulling needily, body shuddering under his touch. His hands found Kurapika’s waist, above his shirt, and he gently rubbed up and down his sides.

“Mm, can I grab your ass?” Leorio asked, moving up to mouth at the tender skin of the other man’s neck.

“You shouldn’t have asked, you should’ve just done it,” Kurapika snapped, releasing Leorio’s hair as he spoke. He placed his hands atop the larger ones gripping his waist, guiding them down towards his ass. A gasp punctured the air between them when Leorio eagerly began to grope him. They kissed again, Kurapika grabbing the doctor’s face and palming at the rough stubble there.

His ass was planted firmly in Leorio’s lap, and he could feel the other man getting hard again. Still, he wasn’t touching him, not the way he wanted. The blond ground his hips down in frustration, breath hot and heavy as he panted.

“Leorio, _please,_ ” Kurapika pleaded, shamelessly grinding their hips together. He looked so desperate like this, sexy and strung out all at once.

The moron _still_ wasn’t getting the message, so Kurapika had no choice. He grabbed one of Leorio’s hands again, this time pulling it between their bodies, pressing it to the front of his shorts. He jabbed his hips forward, creating a pleasurable friction there. Finally.

He groaned and leaned in, resting his forehead against Leorio’s shoulder. From there, it was easy to nose closer to the other man’s neck, his thoughts becoming saturated with the heady scent of cologne.

He’d been ignoring it up until now, but the ache in his leg was becoming an unwelcome distraction. It was getting hotter in the apartment too, and Kurapika felt sweat pooling at the back of his neck and behind his knees.

“Mm, can we move to your bed?” he murmured.

Leorio paused, stomach growing tight with hesitation. He was undeniably attracted to the other man, that much he had to admit. But, just how far was he actually willing to go?

As badly as he felt about it, he’d been trying not to touch Kurapika anywhere intimate. Just the thought of it made him a little uncomfortable. And even when his hand had been pulled there... it was... _weird,_ palming the other man through his shorts. He’d never been with another guy, never given much thought to his inexperience before. Not that the mechanics made him squeamish, nothing could faze him after working at a hospital. Everything was just foreign, uncertain, like he was a virgin again.

Kurapika _was_ a boy, true. So he mentally listed all the ways things might be different. At least there was one positive: despite his looks, he wasn’t going to get pregnant.

Now _there_ was an enticing thought.

Leorio had never made it raw with anyone before, and the longer his alcohol-addled mind thought about it, the more appealing it seemed.

“You’re fixed, right?”

“ _Fixed?_ ”

“Y’know, clean?” Leorio clarified, squeezing the other man’s ass for emphasis.

“Yeah, I am.”

All the booze in the house was kept above the microwave, and Leorio made a beeline for the cabinet there. If he was really going to fuck his roommate, he sure as shit wasn’t gonna sober up.

Fuck it. In for a penny. Or whatever.


	5. Love x Hangover

* * *

Apartment 403, New York City - June 5th, 1977

2:03AM

* * *

Leorio wanted to carry him to the bedroom.

Kurapika did not.

It is relevant to know, now, that Leorio was approximately eight inches taller than his roommate. Six foot four, to be exact. His was a height that, his entire life, had plagued his ability to easily traverse through doors, drive cars, and do other, inconsequential things. He’d never flown in an airplane, but he suspected that would be fucking miserable too.

In this exact moment, the moment where he picked up a squirming Kurapika bridal-style, Leorio actually found himself thankful for his stature. With sixty pounds and nearly a foot on the younger man, he could do little in his attempts to resist.

“Cut it out,” Leorio warned, alcohol bitter on his breath, “or I’ll drop you.”

But Kurapika didn’t, stubbornly writhing like an unhappy cat until he was dumped onto the blue sheets of Leorio’s bed, belly facing the ceiling. It was dark in the room, but he could see Leorio towering above him, looking like a menace.

Next thing Kurapika knew, the doctor’s suit jacket hit the bedroom floor. Leorio pounced on him then, weight shaking the mattress until the springs squeaked. Whiskey always got him like this, and looking at Kurapika now, there wasn’t any fear or uncertainty. He just needed to touch him, large hands reaching out to yank the oversized t-shirt up and off of Kurapika’s chest.

Exposed, the blond cried out in alarm, hands flying up defensively. His palms caught Leorio’s face as he leaned in, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from biting down on his left nipple, hard.

“ _Ah!_ ” The cry had been one of surprise, but Kurapika’s mouth remained open as Leorio started sucking. He was palming the front of his shorts again, this time of his own accord. Kurapika arched his back off the bed, desperate to push into the other man’s touch; he could hear himself moaning, hear himself panting. It was depraved.

Leorio raised his head, and neither of them could resist the awkwardness of eye contact.

“Go get the Crisco in the kitchen,” Kurapika said, gaze unwavering. He smirked as the other man nearly tripped on his way out the door.

As he sailed through the living room, Leorio unbuttoned his dress shirt and tossed it over the coffee table. The kitchen lights weren’t even worth turning on, what he was looking for wasn’t hard to find. It was right there, sitting innocently next to the bread.

The implication of the blue canister in his hands gave his stomach a peculiar, weighed-down quality. _Don’t think about it_ , Leorio urged himself. The booze remained temptingly where he’d left it on the counter. As a compromise, he took a little half-shot, downing handfuls of water to chase.

When he walked back in the room, he dropped the Crisco. He hadn’t meant to, of course, but he hadn’t been expecting to see his roommate stripped naked, either.

Kurapika was lying on his side, cast resting heavily on the sheets. With his good leg bent slightly towards his chest and his ass pushed out, the blond made for an enticing silhouette. His fingers were gently tracing over the pale skin of his upper thigh, caressing the length of his body. Boldly, he grabbed the flesh of his ass, spreading it for Leorio to see.

 _Fuck, he really is sexy,_ the doctor thought helplessly.

At this point, there was no denying that Kurapika was a boy. But, looking at his body like this, Leorio could only feel himself getting turned on. He swallowed.

“You look… good.”

“Mm,” Kurapika hummed, “you want to watch?”

“Yeah.”

Leorio wriggled out of his pants, boxers intact, and sat at the bed’s edge. He hadn’t been expecting it, but the Crisco had an almost butter-like texture. He saw Kurapika’s grey eyes shine with an impish quality as he coated his fingers with it. As he reached back and began circling it over his entrance, the shortening turned more oil-like, melting against his drizzling skin. Half his toes, the ones unbound by the cast, curled sinfully.

Though Kurapika was lying on his other arm, and the angle was awkward, he managed to start stroking himself off. After a few seconds, his breathing turned ragged, and he pushed a finger slowly inside. A low, little noise filled the room, mostly for Leorio’s benefit.

It looked tight. Leorio watched, mystified, as Kurapika fucked himself. He was biting his lip, delicate features of his face wearing a surreal expression, like he was under the spell of some queer, lovely self-hypnosis. Two fingers went in, not so much as a wince when he added a third.

As hot as it looked, Leorio was growing frustrated. He couldn’t stand for watching anymore, just had to fuck him, had to know how it felt. He tore off his boxers and clambered up onto the mattress, pushing Kurapika’s arm until he withdrew his fingers. The blond sprawled flat on his back, letting Leorio climb on top of him, narrow hips bracketed by the other man’s knees.

He wrapped his arms around Leorio’s neck, feeling the sweat there, sighing as he was suddenly, fiercely kissed. That never got old. The doctor pulled back slightly, hand shifting to grab Kurapika’s cheek, and he gently stroked the smooth skin there.

“Can I fuck you like this?” he asked, lips brushing against Kurapika’s as he spoke, breath humid between them. They kissed again, a pang of arousal swelling in the blond’s stomach as he felt Leorio’s tongue push hungrily into his mouth.

He felt himself nodding, couldn’t trust himself to speak. His heart had been in chains over this man for weeks; it was hard to believe this was actually happening, that he was really kissing him, really going to fuck him.

Or, was he? Like it always did, the cast was probably about to make things difficult. Kurapika hooked his good leg around Leorio’s waist, other one lying lamely on the bed. If it didn’t stay straight, it would pinch painfully at the back of his knee. He’d had enough of that from the couch. Missionary was out.

“Err, from behind, maybe?”

“No, I have to see your face.”

“Awfully romantic for someone who was straight this morning,” Kurapika deadpanned.

“Fuck off, I’m always an extremely passionate and incredible lover. Besides,” Leorio paused, voice serious. “I need to make sure I’m not hurting you.”

“I took my pain meds a few hours ago, I’ll be fine.”

“I know how smart you are, so don’t say shit like that,“ he warned sharply. “Even if you don’t feel pain, you might still be doing damage to your body.” The blond refused to meet his gaze, frowning.

“I have to see your face,” Leorio repeated.

“Well, you can’t fuck me then, can you,” Kurapika replied, clearly annoyed. “Not with my leg like this.”

It was true. They couldn’t do missionary, nor any variant of it. And there was no way Kurapika could be on top.

Desperately, Leorio looked around the room. Medical science wasn’t about to stop him from getting his dick wet. Not tonight. His brown eyes caught sight of the dresser across from the bed. Bingo.

“The mirror,” he said excitedly, untangling himself from Kurapika’s arms. He pulled the blond over to the waist-high dresser, large vanity built into the top.

“You aren’t serious,” Kurapika said, looking skeptically into the mirror’s dark reflection.

But Leorio _was_ serious. He bent Kurapika right over the black wood, until he was inches from his own face. The blond gasped, bracing his forearms as Leorio grabbed him, pulling his hips back. With his ass stuck out like this, Kurapika knew his waist looked smaller. What he didn’t know, was that there was a gorgeous, pronounced line running down the length of his spine; a line that Leorio starting kissing down moments later. He shivered at the rough drag of stubble along his sensitive skin.

In the reflection, Leorio could see himself grabbing the Crisco; the thick, heavy feeling of it unfamiliar as he stroked himself with it. As a formality, he held out the can to Kurapika, even though he knew the idiot would decline.

He started lining himself up, but the angle seemed wrong; the blond was too short, and Leorio wasn’t exactly eager to try and bend his dick down to accommodate. Instead, he urged Kurapika to stand on the tiptoes of his good foot, raising his hips slightly. There.

“Can’t you just do it already?”

 _So bossy_ , the doctor thought. He ignored him, instead choosing to tease the head of his cock against Kurapika’s ass. He smirked when he felt the blond’s thighs begin to shake with urgency, mirror reflecting the wild look of desire in his eyes. With one forearm braced against the dresser, Kurapika started pushing back, grinding their bodies together.

Leorio would have liked to tease him a little longer, but the other man wasn’t having it. He reached back and grabbed Leorio’s dick, shoving in the tip.

It was so good, Leorio had to fight his knees from giving out.

Sex had never felt like this before, never this intense. He could feel Kurapika twitching around him, so hot and so tight, all of the feeling pure and raw on his cock. A low groan escaped him, and his hold on Kurapika’s hips could only tighten, fingers digging into pale, soft flesh. He couldn’t get enough. If he hadn’t cum earlier, he probably would be close by now.

A solid _thud_ interrupted Leorio’s thoughts as he pushed in deeper. Kurapika’s forehead had slammed loudly against the dresser, yellow hair obscuring his face, palms clenched into fists as he moaned into the dark wood. Leorio instantly reached out, grabbing a handful of Kurapika’s hair. He yanked his head back roughly, so that his face was visible again, fucking him slow all the while. His hair felt damp, and the back of his neck was tinged with sweat.

The mirror was getting fogged up now, what with the blond panting wetly over his reflection. His mind was blissfully empty of any thought, just the debased happiness of being stretched out and claimed. The painkillers were thankfully doing their job, only thing he could feel now was the jagged, irregular pleasure of Leorio fucking up into his stomach.

“More consistently,” Kurapika instructed breathily. “Or I can’t get off.”

Leorio released the other man’s hair, rolling his shoulders back in a circle to stretch them. He was trying his best to keep a consistent pace, but it was difficult; his every instinct was screaming to just pound into Kurapika’s tight ass.

“Not like that. Do it faster.”

“Why don’t you just show me?” Leorio offered, calm. He regretfully slowed his hips, allowing the blond to do as he pleased.

Kurapika was a vision as he fucked himself on Leorio’s dick. He was pushing back up on it roughly, hand coming down to jerk himself off, chasing his own high. Still bent over, he could only use the edge of the dresser for leverage, old wood creaking as he braced his free arm against it. Whatever momentum he couldn’t generate from force alone, he made up for with his hips. As he moved, a chorus of delightful, little noises were forcing themselves from his throat.

The long, slow strokes, coupled with the indecent sound of slapping skin caused Leorio’s head to go light. In the mirror’s reflection, he could see Kurapika’s lips half-open, red tongue hanging heavy in his mouth. There were practically little hearts in his eyes, entire face painted with lust. It felt like he was going crazy. The sweet, low moaning, the incredible view of his cock disappearing over and over into Kurapika’s ass, the tight heat around his dick: it was all getting to be too much.

“ _Fuck,_ Kurapika,” he groaned, “I’m gonna cum-”

But the blond ignored him completely, just continued to fuck himself, muscles along his back tensing with the effort of it. _He’s using me,_ Leorio realized, pulse pounding loud enough to drown out the voice in his head. That was his final coherent thought before a violent shiver of pleasure overwhelmed him. He came so hard, he felt it in his toes.

Hadn’t pulled out either. Quite the opposite, in fact. And it felt fucking good.

Without missing a beat, Kurapika stood, pulling Leorio's dick free. He turned on his good heel. His grey eyes smoldered with fierce anger. The man was too short to be truly intimidating, but his intent seemed murderous, sweat cloying dangerously to his lithe form. Leorio couldn’t help but glance down; Kurapika was certainly standing at attention, and it looked a bit painful. _What the fuck, is he bigger than me?_

“I can’t believe you came, do you know how close I was?”

Leorio’s jaw dropped. In the low light, he saw Kurapika close his hands into fists, wincing.

“So this is on _me_? Are you fucking serious? I gave you a warning, moron!” Getting accused of shit that wasn’t his fault always got him pissed, and he welcomed the anger as it seeped into his gut.

“Do you know how many times you’ve cum tonight, Leorio? Twice. While I still haven’t, not even once!” Kurapika’s frustration found itself compounded by the painful, insistent throb of his cock, and he fought not to touch himself.

“Do _you_ know what it feels like to fuck you? Look, I’m sorry, but how the hell can you blame me? You’re lucky I even lasted that long,” Leorio admitted.

“You’re one lousy fuck, Leorio,” Kurapika snapped, turning away. He could feel a thin trickle of cum start to drip down his good thigh, and it pissed him off even more. He froze when Leorio caught one of his small wrists, rubbing it apologetically.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he sighed, sitting back on the edge of the bed and pulling Kurapika close. “I really am. I’ll do whatever you want, really. Whatever it takes.”

Kurapika quirked a blond brow skeptically. “You’ll let me fuck you?” He smirked when the gentle fingers massaging his wrist stopped.

“I— it’s a lot to ask,” Leorio conceded guiltily. His face seemed to harden with sudden resolve. “But, it’s only fair. And, and if it’s what you really want...”

Kurapika smiled. _He’s cute, when he’s like this._

In the end, he had Leorio on his knees. He was lousy at giving head too, couldn’t seem to keep his teeth to himself. So Kurapika, fed up, ordered him to keep his mouth open and still while he fucked his face.

To Leorio’s credit, he found the idea somewhere in his oxygen-deprived mind to start fingering him halfway through, and that was good.

He was close now, pushing down on Leorio’s head, using him to half-support his weight as he canted his hips forward. Kurapika could feel the other man gagging around him, should probably have let him breathe, but he couldn’t help himself. He pushed deeper, until sweet tears spilled across Leorio‘s face.

Kurapika wiped one away with the pad of his thumb, and finally, mercifully, came.

His whole body shuddered and he pulled himself free, letting the other man cough. Some terrible, dark part of him wanted to lean in and spit on Leorio’s face, but he leaned in to kiss him instead.

After he caught his breath, Leorio made off for the bathroom. Kurapika carefully laid back on the duvet, satisfied. He slung the crook of his arm over his eyes, turning the room blissfully dark.

The headiness he’d felt during sex was slowly ebbing away, and the sweat, lube, and everything else began to cloy unpleasantly to his skin. His soul cried out for a shower, but, as always, the cast thwarted him.

Leorio returned then, the beautiful bastard bringing water and a damp washcloth in his hands. He kissed Kurapika on the cheek, and gently began sponging him off.

“Caregiver 'til the end, hm?”

“Just in my nature, I guess,” Leorio conceded. He gently coaxed Kurapika’s arm from his face, and they looked at one another.

“Will you regret it?” Kurapika asked, softly.

“Nah. It's weird, but... I think I really might like you.”

“I’ve liked you for a while, Leorio,” the blond confessed, the sweet catharsis of finally saying those words warmed his chest like a tonic.

“Good. Let’s talk it over tomorrow, OK? I’m pretty tired.” He slid into the bed beside Kurapika, snaking his arms around the smaller man’s torso. They lay in the endless silence of the night, for a little while. Kurapika felt too giddy to sleep. Thrilled through and through, he couldn’t stop himself from grinning out into the darkness.

“Hey, Kurapika?”

“Mm?”

“Did you seduce me just so you wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch anymore?”

Kurapika laughed and kissed him quiet, feeling Leorio smile against his lips.

* * *

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika is a dom don't @ me
> 
> List of (not so) pop-culture references / other things:
> 
> Chapter 1: 
> 
> \- “Hello, gorgeous”, Barbara Streisand’s iconic opening line from Funny Girl (1968)  
> \- Lenox Hill Hospital is a real hospital in NYC  
> \- "Nance", slang to refer to an effeminate man
> 
> Chapter 2: 
> 
> \- The "Star", a reference to the fictional NYC newspaper in Sex and the City  
> \- "Barefoot in the Park", a 1967 comedy film, where one of the main gags involves the characters continually having to walk up to their sixth-floor apartment.  
> \- "Perfectly Marvelous", from the musical Cabaret, the song where the main characters become roommates (for the love of god, listen to the Original Broadway Cast recording)
> 
> Chapter 3:
> 
> \- Montage (In Three/Four Parts), a reference to the song from the musical "A Chorus Line"  
> \- "Police Woman" was a real television program that ran from '74-'78. If you're curious, you can watch an episode of it on youtube
> 
> Chapter 4:
> 
> \- “Love to Love You Baby” a very great song by the late Donna Summer  
> \- “Made/make it with someone”, 70’s slang for have sex  
> \- “Fixed”, 70’s slang, usually to refer to asking if a woman is on birth control
> 
> Chapter 5
> 
> \- Crisco was commonly used as lube by the gay community in the 1970’s
> 
> Dear reader, you may be asking yourself: why was this story set in 1977?  
> The answer: because AIDS didn't exist yet and my man Leorio needed it raw
> 
> ~
> 
> It's been a while since I had such a wonderful muse. Kurapika is so sexy... wow... I would love to fuck him! 
> 
> I would like to apologize to all the 1970's artists whose wonderful music I listened to while writing this filth. Except for Barry White. We been knew he wanted people doing nasty shit to those bops. 
> 
> Some choice cuts, for your listening pleasure:
> 
> “It's a Shame” - The Spinners  
> “Sexy Eyes” - Dr. Hook  
> “Me and Mrs. Jones” - Billy Paul  
> “Love Hangover” - Diana Ross  
> “Tired of Being Alone” - Al Green  
> “I'm Gonna Love You Just A Little More Baby” - Barry White  
> “Take Me Home” - Cher
> 
> Incredibly, “Sexual Healing” did not make the list, and that's because I kept laughing my ass off while trying to listen to it. 
> 
> This took 95+ hours of my life to write… I hate myself
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!


End file.
